Lord, I have not been called To speak before presidents and kings To defend my faith with fiery words Before the world’s tribunals. I have not been called to suffer The torturer’s tools To be crucified or burned at the stake To seal my faith with my blood. But Lord, give me the courage To live heroically in the everyday To sacrifice my small conveniences And die in other ways. Grant me the grace To bear the imperial scorn Of the self-willed and wicked, To give up my comfort For those who need kindness. My little pain, I pray I’ll bear with grace And give the devil no satisfaction. Let me take, on ho-hum Monday mornings the same path the martyrs took. Let me bear with patience The despairing remark When I have done my best and failed. Let me make plenty of room For the shortcomings of others And not so much for myself. Not all the Gideons The Joshuas and Calebs, The Ruths and Esthers Are in the Bible. Some may be next door. Some, I hope, will be found in my house. People who take Their modest measure of faith And hurl it, like David’s stone Into their circumstances And see giants fall. Maybe nobody will see these little unsung deeds But cheering saints and angels In the bleachers of heaven And you, Lord I know you’ll see. I have not been called to scourging and crucifixion But let me bear with grace and humor The little crosses of my everyday!